Sure, but there were burnable CDs that stored 650 times as much as a floppy and cost a few dollars, and there were hard drives. On those odd occasions where you wanted to give someone some files that were too big for an email (which also made them too big for a floppy), you'd burn a CD.
You'd have had to spring what would then have been several hundred dollars for a CD burner, as the Bondi Blue and most later iMac drives were read-only. 1.44 Mb floppies were practically useless for graphics files.
Cheap and reliable CD burning had been around since late 1994, when Adobe launched PC versions of their previously Mac-only graphics apps. Most Windows PCs had the option of a CD drive while beige-era Macs rarely did. By the end of the decade Apple, once synonymous with desktop publishing, had lost its industry edge.
A bit before my time, but do have this in the shelves
One from out of the frozen tombs.
Pete Nelson & the Castaways had a hit with a sped-up version of the Skye Boat Song
I remember that one. Speed bonny boat, like a turd on a string...
Excellent, thank you.
Sounds a bit like Junk DNA.
A growing number of scientists, Gleick writes, are beginning to wonder whether information "may be primary: more fundamental than matter itself."
Sounds like reification, that old pitfall for the academically inclined whose erudition exceeds their life experience: "Reification (Gestalt psychology), the perception of an object as having more spatial information than is actually present."
Fuckwit spits out well.
Fuckwit seems universally beloved. An elderly Australian a few years back was describing how, as an adolescent in a small NSW town during WW2, he was made a fire warden. This involved patrolling the town while wearing a helmet emblazoned with the letters FW. Everyone, including the most straight-laced citizens, seemed mightily amused by this. As long as he smiled and waved right back the joke never seemed to get old.
"A tune was being played, sparing of melodic invention, free too of any marked variation in volume, rhythm, harmony, expression, tempo, or tone-colour, and, more or less in time with it, groups of dancers were wheeling, plunging, and gesticulating while the ogre, more aphasic than before, mumbled at full strength:
'Ya parp the Hawky-Cawky arnd ya tarn parp-parp, Parp what it's parp parp-parp.'"
Kingsley Amis, Lucky Jim, 1954
Isambard Kingdom Brunel connection.
Kate Beaton's Brunel.
Tony Abbott is mourned in Australia...will be missed by the country’s wordsmiths.
Wordsmurfs, more like it. Going by their mealy-mouthed collection of bland "Australianisms", that lot couldn't get a soapy stick up a dog's bum.